


Suitable Amenities

by toesohnoes



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Enterprise visits a pleasure planet, Kirk is granted a sex slave. He reassures himself that he will be able to resist indulging while he is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suitable Amenities

**Author's Note:**

> Written for babylon_pride as part of round six of [Five Acts](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/617043.html).

"We have heard of your appetite for the finer pleasures in life, captain," the planet's king boomed as Kirk stood before him. Kirk and his ground crew stood at the base of a giant golden throne. On the throne, the king was spread before them, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. His attendants stood beside him, blank-faced and waiting for orders. "I approve of a man with good taste. We made sure to provide your quarters with appropriate amenities."

Perhaps Kirk didn't want to think too long or too hard about precisely what this man's idea of appropriateness was. He offered a smile and his thanks before they were led away, all of them being taken to a separate room. "Don't do anything stupid, Jim," McCoy warned him before they parted ways.

Kirk did nothing more than grin. "When have I ever done something stupid?" he asked.

In response, McCoy did little more than glare. That was probably answer enough.

Kirk was led along a cream-coloured hallway in the palace until they came to a blank doorway. His guides stopped at either side of the door, like they were guards instead of escorts. Kirk tried not to think too hard about whether or not he and his crew were guests or prisoners here. They were on a diplomatic mission. He could reassure himself that nobody, king or not, would try to harm them - but he had seen too often how some planets took to diplomacy and peace-keeping. It would be best to watch his back and hope that the others would do the same.

He entered the doorway and felt as if he was stepping into another level of life altogether. While the palace alone had been lavish and impressive, this took it to entirely new levels. Water features trickled along the walls and sunlight flowed in through glass in the ceilings. Every item of furniture was trimmed with gold and jewels. The floor beneath his feet seemed to be infused with sunlight itself, every step producing a new, pleasant shine.

Kirk whistled under his breath and stepped further inside, looking around himself at his surroundings. The Enterprise had taken him to all kinds of places before. This was the first time that he had felt like royalty.

He was so distracted by the gilded rooms that, for a few moments, he failed to notice that he wasn't the only one here. There, sitting on the edge of a bed so large it could have held dozens, was a man.

A boy, really.

He was smaller than Kirk, and his skin was so pale that he might never have seen the sun in his entire life. His hair formed curls on top of his head so tight that they couldn't have been natural, and his lips were a pink bow, surely enhanced by make-up. No one's mouth could naturally be that pink or inviting, Kirk was sure of it.

All that separated the teenager from complete nudity was a shimmer of translucent material draped across him like a toga. Really, it served to draw attention to all of the places Kirk shouldn't have been looking rather than offering him any modesty. Kirk had a split-second to take in the sight before him, before he caught himself and turned around rapidly.

"Am I not to your taste?" the teenager asked, his voice strained with the accent of this planet, torturing every vowel. It should sound ridiculous, yet if Kirk needed any help getting aroused that definitely did the job.

"You're great," Kirk said. More than great. The kid was a walking wet dream. "I'm not allowed to take - whatever it is you're offering. It wouldn't ethical."

He heard the sound of the teenager getting to his feet and starting to pad across the soft, plush carpet. No shoes. No socks. The boy didn't seem as if he'd ever been allowed outside in all of his short life. "Please, captain," the teenager said. "Turn around. There is no pressure for you to do anything you do not wish to. The king only wishes to make you comfortable."

That was more or less the problem. With a man like this in the room with him, Kirk ran the risk of being altogether too comfortable. "Sorry. What's your name?"

"I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov," he answered. "Call me Chekov, if you'd like."

"Chekov. Right." Kirk nodded. At least he had a name now. Somehow that made him feel a little more able to handle him. "And you're just being... what? Gifted to me?"

"I am a graduate of the planet's finest pleasure academy," Chekov told him proudly. "I came top of my class, sir."

Kirk turned around to look at him again, and found him startlingly close. Closer up like this, he thought that maybe he had to stop thinking of Chekov as a 'boy'. He was clearly older than that, perhaps his late teens or early twenties. Beneath the shimmering toga, his body was small but muscled - a man's body, not a child's.

Over one bicep, a black sigil was tattooed - a tight black curve punctuated by a single dot. Without thinking it through, Kirk reached out to touch it. His fingertips brushed against firm, warm skin as he traced the mark. "What's this?" he asked.

Chekov smiled brightly. "It is the mark of my family," he said. "We are quite prodigious, you know."

"Does that make this the family business?" Kirk asked. He tried to imagine that kind of life. His work on Starfleet had taken him across the universe. He always came across societies and peoples that he couldn't understand within his own life experiences. His mother would have chased him down if he had ever thought about this kind of career path - he had had to take up sex recreationally rather than professionally.

Chekov smiled coyly and then reached up to take hold of Kirk's hand. While he was perfectly aware that he should have still been resisting him, Kirk couldn't do anything but follow along when Chekov led him back towards the bed. "Let me show you what I can do," Chekov pleaded. Kirk was pretty sure that he was pouting. How the hell was he supposed to stay strong against a pout like that? "Perhaps one kiss? What harm could one kiss do?"

Kirk thought that one kiss could do a hell of a lot of damage, but apparently that wasn't enough to make him stop Chekov when Chekov pressed him down onto the bed and climbed into his lap. Chekov was so warm and firm above him, and then his lips pressed against Kirk's - perfectly sweet, perfectly innocent, until Chekov's tongue swiped out to lick along the line of Kirk's mouth and tease him open.

After that, Kirk's arms tightened automatically around Chekov's waist. He gave a mindless moan and opened up to him, losing his self-control already. Chekov's tongue pressed into him - and, yeah, all of those years training at that academy of his had clearly done a good job. Chekov kissed like he knew what he was doing.

Chekov pressed him back against the mattress, his hands gentle but persistent against Kirk's shoulders. He seemed to know just what Kirk wanted, giving it to him before Kirk could start to seek it out. Yet it wasn't enough to lie back and take what was offered. Kirk had been promised _anything_. With Chekov beginning to map his body with his steady, certain hands, Kirk was having difficulty remembering why he would even want to say no to that.

He steadied Chekov against him and then rolled them over so that Chekov was beneath him, his legs spread open to accommodate Kirk between them. He looked up at Kirk from beneath lowered lashes, the perfect combination of innocent and smug. "Don't say anything," Kirk said. "A guy's allowed to change his mind, right?"

"Right," Chekov agreed, while he reached to pulled Kirk's shirt from him. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

Hearing Chekov's V morphed into a W was nearly enough to make Kirk need to fuck him immediately. With only the thin material of Chekov's toga parting him from Chekov's bare skin, he could feel how hard Chekov was for him. It made him grin, almost feral, as he ripped the material from Chekov's body.

It ripped easily and he tore it away, throwing it from the bed without caring where it landed. That left Chekov bare beneath him, with so much skin to touch and conquer. Over his pale torso, further black sigils and lines sprawled over his skin. Kirk sat up so that he could take them in properly, running his fingers over them. "They all have meanings, don't they?" he asked.

"Of course," Chekov answered. "If you're very good, perhaps I'll tell you about them."

Kirk leaned down over him again, while he continued to trace along one of the black marks that decorated Chekov's hip-bone. "I plan on being _extremely_ good," he promised. He'd had no complaints so far.

Chekov gave a breathy laugh, but he managed to wriggle beneath Kirk to divest him of his trousers and underwear. Kirk's weight holding him down didn't give him a lot of room to move, and Kirk honestly wasn't incredibly inclined to help him out. He preferred watching him do what he could, Chekov's feet helping to ease his trousers down his legs and off of him.

"Nimble, huh," Kirk murmured.

"Flexible," Chekov confirmed, and the quirk of his eyebrow was definitely a challenge.

Oh, _fuck_. Kirk never stood a single chance of resisting him.

Their bodies slid together, bare skin on bare skin, and at any other time Kirk might have been able to draw it out and enjoy himself. He might have explored and teased and taken his time until Chekov was begging him - but right now that wasn't a possibility. Right now he had Chekov under him, _his_ , and his body thrummed with the need to prove it.

He shoved Chekov's leg up over his shoulder, brushing an absent kiss against his ankle. His hand fumbled between them, needing something, needing slick, but Chekov caught his wrist and shook his head. "I'm ready," he said, his eyes darkened with need. Of course he was, Kirk realised. Chekov had been placed in this room with this moment in mind. He would have been prepared.

Kirk gave a groan, not quite able to handle the mental image that came with that thought, but it didn't stop him from positioning himself by Chekov's entrance, able to feel the silky-slick lubricant, too luxurious for anything produced on Earth.

His breath stopped as he pushed into him. Chekov's head dropped back against the pillow, his neck on display. Looking down at him as he felt the tight heat of Chekov surrounding his dick, Kirk felt like a conquering king.

He braced his hand against the headboard and slammed into the slim body beneath him until he could see Chekov's trained composure beginning to shatter. Chekov's paper-pale skin flushed pink and his eyes screwed shut as Kirk brushed across that special spot inside him. He murmured in a language all his own, curse words as his body clenched and tightened beneath Kirk.

Kirk breathed heavy puffs of amusement, the muscles in his back and ass tightening and clenching with every powerful thrust. God, it had been so long since he'd been able to do this, fuck someone without worries of the possible repercussions - as the captain of the Enterprise, there was too much scope for abuse of power, too much responsibility on his shoulders. Here, with a teenager given into his bed, the power dynamics were far simpler. It was okay to take what he wanted. It was expected.

Chekov's cock was hard and leaking between them, smearing precum against their stomachs with every thrust. "Touch yourself," Kirk panted. "I want to see you get off. Want to feel it."

Chekov's hand shot between them, wrapping around himself. Kirk could see the ripple and tense of his muscles marked in the black ink decorating his body, animated in exertion. Fucking beautiful. Kirk pushed down, slamming their mouths together - no finesse, just contact: open, wet and messy. He groaned into it and cried out when he felt Chekov's climax, the small body beneath him tightening and clenching as he came.

Kirk continued to fuck into him, wrenching lost whimpers from Chekov's over-sensitive body as he chased completion. Wouldn't take long now, he was so close, and when Chekov reached down to grab hold of Kirk's ass and pull him tighter he was done for. He pushed himself as far into Chekov's body as he could manage and then climaxed with an uncontrolled groan, barely managing to muffle the sound against Chekov's neck.

He slumped onto Chekov's body and lay there panting as he tried to recover his breath and his senses. Stroking his fingers through Kirk's hair, Chekov showed no desire to get him to move off of him. Not yet.

Kirk lost track of time. He could have been lying there for minutes and hours before he finally pulled out and rolled off of him, falling onto his back and staring up at the swirling ceiling above them. His entire body still felt as if it was trembling with intensity.

"You have got to come with us when we leave," Kirk declared. Leaving the kid behind was unthinkable. He looked towards him and found Chekov watching him, his blue eyes impossibly wide and faintly amused. "You ever felt like going into space?"

Chekov's answer was a wide, hopeful grin. That was more than enough for Kirk.


End file.
